Sahawenelan

Chapter 1 : Dreams of scars

Note: dialogues in italic are in Na'vi.

Year 2163, Sahawenelan continent, Pandora

Scars are, in a way, the most personal things there are. You can personalize your clothes, your hair or your bow in many ways, but scars are the only way to make your body your own. To free yourself from the model set by your parents' genes and make it your own. So that it truly becomes the expression of what you've lived through, like a waytelem (song cord) engraved directly on your flesh.

I'm waiting for my scars. Not just any scars, but the ones that will give me freedom. The scar from awtisop, the first journey, the one from iknimaya, from tirol, my song, the one from vitra, my soul. I already have olo's, the clan's, engraved on my sternum, a glittering spark that is the symbol of the Sahawenelan, the wind clan. My clan. The olo scar symbolizes the light of the Sahawenelan clan, meant to guide the other clans through the darkness, bearers of the First Songs, those who carry news, memories, legends and songs.

I'm ten years old, a young teenager for the Na'vi, and I'm already almost ready to obtain the iknimaya scar. I know I'm only supposed to get it in three or four years, but I also know I'm ready. I train harder than everyone else. Maybe because I'm not like them. Because I have to prove my worth. Maybe because I, Ti'lía, am different from the others.

I live in the Herwíelan mountains, my clan's mountains. We're semi-nomads: the trained hunters leave every two years for tisop, the ikran trip around Pandora to visit all the clans, from the smallest to the largest. The older ones, the Tsahik, the children and those who don't want to go, don't fly. But who wouldn't? We live surrounded by tapestries, drawings, engravings, music and objects that tell of the traditions, cultures, legends, everything that makes up the reyfya (culture) of a clan. We live for these reyfya, for the other clans, to keep them united and help maintain the balance Eywa wanted. And that's what I want. To be free while helping Eywa. I've been trained in the songs of the Omatikaya, the riding of Pa'li, the freediving of the Metkayina, the riding of ilu, the wild runs in the branches of the Arehnae... I know the cultures of the main clans of the jungles, deserts, tundras, reefs, plains and other biomes of Pandora. The smaller clans have a reyfya derived from the larger ones that's easy to learn, according to Te'rey, my teacher, the one who is teaching me how to be a true Sahawenelan huntress.

I excel at hunting and climbing, as do all my people. We're among the best ikran makto, and that's the last skill I need to leave for awtisop, the first journey that, when I return, will make me a true member of the Sahawenelan clan. But to become an ikran makto, I must pass Iknimaya, the rite of passage. And to pass iknimaya, I must follow the tradition set by the Omatikaya and adopted by my people: kill a yerik. But there aren't many yerik to be found in the caves and on the mountain plateaus where my people live, surrounded by waterfalls, sparse vegetation and, often, snow. Me, I want to hunt a yerik in a clean and respectful kill, and finally accomplish iknimaya. I want to be able to leave, to fly east or west, it doesn't matter as long as I can leave the small continent that shelters the Sahawenelan mountains. I want to be free, to leave the nest at last, and discover the answer to a question that's been tormenting me for years. I believe that the Omatikaya jungle is where I'll find the answer to my question: who am I?

The Na'vi of the Sahawenelan clan are very similar to the Omatikaya: four fingers on each hand and foot, four members, two eyes, a mouth, a feline nose, pointed ears, a feline tail... but they are also different. Na'vi Sahawenelan hair is gray or white rather than black. Their skin is closer to gray or white, and the darker stripes are finer and wavy. Their eyes, too, are lighter to help them see better in the snowy mountains, and have a thin, transparent third eyelid, natìwnu, to protect them from strong winds and snow. I look like the Na'vi Sahawenelan, but my hair is black with white streaks, my stripes are darker, my blue-gray eyes have fine golden lines. No one will tell me why I'm different, but I know I am. No matter how hard I try to fit in, no matter how well I know all the reyfya, how well I hunt, how well I weave, how well I sing, how well I ride, how well I run. I could have a kuru like the one on the tree of souls, I could do tsaheylu with an atokirina, I'd still be left out. Different. My clan doesn't trust me. That's why Te'rey refuses to let me go hunt a yerik in the jungle beneath the Herwíelan Flying Mountains.

Right now, I'm in class with five other classmates my age that are also training to become hunters and accomplish iknimaya and awtisop. Our teacher, Te'rey, is telling us about the different scars we will obtain throughout our lives:

"After each tisop, each travel, you will obtain a new scar on your arms. That's why the oldest hunters have arms covered in scars. But there are many more scars to obtain, and each has a special meaning."

"And when will we get the iknimaya scar?" I ask.

"When you are ready" he answers before continuing his talk.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he finishes his class on scars. We rarely have classes like this, when we sit in a cave high up in the mountains, surrounded by tapestries and drawing, listening to our teacher. But today, instead of going to the jungle to hunt, we had to have a class like this. When Te'rey says:

"You can leave, students. I will assist to Lo'ere's iknimaya this afternoon, so you won't have class. Be careful out there, and don't go to far away!"

All the students, including me, run out of the classroom. The other kids are heading to the Sahawenelan Landing Area, the most interesting and animated place of the Sahawenelan village, where they can see some ikrans and listen to some hunting stories. Me, I'm heading the other way. Because today is the day I chose to finally prove my worthiness. Today I climb down the mountain, and I will hunt a yerik.

My bare feet easily find a grip on the damp rock. The great snows have ended and the sun has already melted every last patch of snow. The Herwíelan mountains are the highest on Pandora and among the only places where it snows, since they're in the clouds. The jungle below, the plains to the north and east and the lagoon to the west have no experience of snow, which melts before it touches the ground. The continent beneath the Flying Mountains, one of the smallest on Pandora, serves as a giant training ground for adapting to Pandora's main biomes. To train to live in the desert, you have to wait until you've passed iknimaya and can fly to the neighboring continent. I've already passed tìfmetok, the test, in the jungle, the reefs and the plains, to prove that I can adapt and live there. I passed tìfmetok ahead of all my comrades who were apprentice hunters. My mother told me over and over that I didn't need to prove myself, that I could take my time, but I can see the looks on the other clan members' faces when she braids my strange hair. I don't belong here. I have to earn my place in the Sahawenelan clan the hard way, while the other Na'vi training to awtisop with me are already accepted. But I'm not giving up. I decided two years ago, when I realized what was happening, to take up the challenge. I'll earn my place.

I run a hand through the short black and white locks that frame my face. Until I leave for awtisop, I'll wear my simple child's braid, wrapped around my kuru. A blue feather hanging from a bone carved into a fishhook is piercing the base of my left ear. I wear it, and its purple twin on my right ear, because I know I don't need my hood. My hood is made of black kinglor silk lined with Salulukan soft and warm skin, hangs directly from my top. My mother made it, but I patiently wove the strip of black silk edged with a turquoise braid of plant fibers that covers my chest. My waytelem is wrapped around my left bicep with another bracelet made from strings of round beads crafted by my older brother and assembled, along with a green feather, on a cuff of sangangap leather hunted by my father. Another cuff, in bark decorated with black lines, covers my whole forearm. Its twin covers my other forearm, while my right bicep is adorned with a string of purple plant fibers that criss-crosses and intertwines along its entire length, with a few cloud-river pearls and dried flowers mixed in with the thread. A similar string, currently without any pearls on it, is wrapped around my tail. When I leave for awtisop, each member of the clan will entwine a pearl in it to wish me good luck and a safe journey. Around my waist, I wear a belt, a simple pale yellow vegetal braid with a bone buckle, on which hang four knee-high pieces of sky-blue cloth. A spool of blank thread is wound around the belt on the right-hand side. When I complete awtisop, I'll use this thread to make an inventory of the lives, deaths and significant events of each clan. For each clan, I'll cut a length and dye it with a specific color for each clan. I know hundreds of different knots, each signifying something special. For each one, I'll sing one or more words that will form a song. I'll tie the threads of life, the tìreying, together using a special weaving technique, to make a special fabric that tells the story of everything I've learned on my journey. When I return, I'll sing my song, and my threads will be incorporated into the mother tapestry, täfwa, which tells the interwoven story of all the clans since the First Songs, in an immensely long song handed down from Tsahik to Tsahik. During my journey, I will wear my tìreying around my waist, which seems really light right now.

My knife, made of river crystal, sharp and pointy, has a handle made out of the leather of a sangangap that I killed myself. I was nine years old at the time. A sangangap (a mountain animal resembling a viperwolf, but shorter, with only four legs and with sharp, poisonous blade-like bones on his sides) had attacked a group of young children that weren't watched over by adults. I had tried to drive the sangangap away, to respect Eywa, but then the Tsahik had arrived and had told me that Eywa allowed me to bring the sangangap back to her, the Great Mother. So, with one arrow, I had taken the sangangap's life before thanking the Great Mother and using it's skin, flesh and bones. Now my knife has a handle made of sangangap skin with a tooth of a sangangap attached to it, to remind me every day of that event. It is attached to my right side, on my belt. My ankles are protected from sharp rocks with gaiters made out of flexible bark, like my arm's cuffs. And, final touch, I have a quiver full of a dozen of arrows attached to my belt. My arrows are made of black, light wood with three oarsteyiki (moonwraith, a pandoran insect) wings on one end and a sharp, pointy silex dipped in poison on the other end. For now, my bow is strapped in my back so that it does not bother me while I climb down the mountain. The ground is still so far away I feel closer to the clouds than to the jungle, but I know some shortcuts that will make my journey fast and unnoticeable by my people. Children in my clan often spend the day climbing and exploring around, so no one will wonder where I am. And, hopefully, when they do, I will be back with a yerik hunted properly to show that I am ready for iknimaya. But, even if I have time, a quick glance at the sky and at the eclipse incites me to go faster.

I am a fast climber, but going down is harder than going up. I have to walk on some unstable vine bridges, jump onto slippery rocks and avoid large crevasses to finally get closer to the ground. It takes me three whole hours to reach the Ground Mountain, a mountain that is, like its name indicates it, onto the ground. A huge, really old vine called "the Anchor" keeps the Herwíelan mountains attached to the Ground Mountain. I use the thread around my waist to slowly slip down the Anchor and take my first steps onto the wet rocks of the Ground Mountain. It has been some time since I had last walked here, I'd say at least a month.
I have to admit that, at this point, I totally forgot about my original motivation. Juste seeing the jungle around me, with so much life, so many plants, so many noises, smells... I got kind of overwhelmed by it. Of course, I want to feel accepted, to prove myself, but I am still a Na'vi, a Sahawenelan, sensible to life and balance, to Eywa's heartbeat. And when, from the top of the Ground Mountain, I can admire the whole jungle around me, I feel at peace. I find my spiritual balance, and it makes me hesitate. Do I really want to disrupt Eywa's balance simply to prove myself? I can't help but wonder, spending a lot of time simply looking at the forest, observing a kenten (fan lizard) fly next to me. And I am still wondering, my bow in my hand, hesitating, asking myself if I should go down this small mountain and track a yerik, when a powerful wind almost knocks me down.

I manage to avoid a painful fall from the top of the mountain and recover my balance at the edge of the small plateau on which I was standing. I lift my head and realise it was an ikran that had produced this powerful wind. And a Na'vi is mounting it. I avoid the eyes of the ikran, to show I don't want to provoke it, and try to catch a glimpse of the face of the ikran makto, whose face is hidden by the neck of their mount. I see a four-fingered, pale-blue hand break tsaheylu and the rider jumps from the back of their mount, letting me see their face.
It is Te'rey, his bow in his hand, the pearls at the tip of the small braids around his face rattling softly in the wind. He looks at me, a thumb slipped in his belt, a disappointed look on his face.

"I knew you were going to do that", he says, "but I still hoped you wouldn't."

"Do what?" I ask, trying to hide the fact that I am extremely nervous right now. I think that my nervously wagging tail has given me away.

"Slip discreetly to the jungle and hunt a yerik to be allowed to pass iknimaya, event though you are not ready, and you still wouldn't be granted that right."

"But why? I trained harder than all the others! I know I can..."

"You may be ready physically", said Te'rey, "but you aren't balanced spiritually. The Tsahik says you need to focus on yourself and on you present, rather than thinking about who you might be and dreaming about scars you are not ready to bear. You try too hard, and a lot of the clan members are intimidated by that."

"Are you sure it's not because of my weird hair?" I ask sarcastically.

"Well, I have to admit that when you were little, you did scare some clan members because of the mixed colors of your hair. But know, it's mostly because you remind them of Tayra."

Immediately after saying this, Te'rey bits his lip, as if he'd just realised he had said the wrong thing. My ears point up, traducing my surprise. I had never heard of Tayra before.

"Who is Tayra?" I ask.

"A huntress from our clan. She's gone now."

I can see my teacher tries to avoid the subject, and I want to ask some more questions, but I don't want him to get angry, so I let him change the subject.

"Anyway, as I said before, you cannot go through iknimaya and find the companion that will share a part of your soul for the rest of your life if your soul isn't balanced. You have to find yourself, to know yourself. And right now, you haven't achieved that yet. You have a pain inside of you, something that keeps you from living completely in the moment. You are lost in dreams and you want scars..."

"I'm not ready to bear" I complete mockingly. "Yes, you said that already. But I still want to try. Maybe if I show everyone what I'm capable of, the Tsahik will really see my soul, and understand I am part of the Sahawenelan clan"

"So that's what it is..." sadly says Te'rey. "I told you. The clan isn't the problem. What's inside of you is. You are looking for something, but you don't know what, so you're replacing it with an ambition you don't really have."

I groan, annoyed. Te'rey is the nephew of the Tsahik and was a bit trained by her. He understands spiritual and Eywa-related things better than most of us. And sometimes, it can be very annoying.

"Except I know what I'm looking for. I'm looking for the truth. For the reason why I'm so different from the other members of the Sahawenelan clan."

Te'rey sighs. He looks like he is about to give in to what I want.

"Fine. Go hunt a yerik", he says. "After all, maybe that's what you need. Maybe it will show you things from a different angle. Maybe all you need is a change of perspective."

He climbs back up on the back of his ikran and takes his kuru in his hand. After making tsaheylu, his ikran takes off, leaving my alone near the Anchor, finally able to prove myself.

"Yerik, ready or not, here I come!"

Did you know?

- I am french and this is the longest story I've ever written in English. Let me know if I've written anything wrong!

- I made up the Sahawenelan clan (though I was inspired by the Sarentu clan), the Sangangap, the Salulukan, tìfmetok, awtisop, the tìreying, täfwa... To do so, I mixed some already-existing Na'vi words to form words that reflected what I wanted to say. For example, "awtisop" comes from "awve", which means "first", and "tisop", "travel". I used an online dictionary (dict-navi) to translate some words from english to Na'vi.

- If you have any questions about this first chapter, you can ask me.